


Reunion

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16504868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The brotherly relationship Norway and Iceland enjoyed for centuries was broken by Norway's declaration of dependence in 1814 (and his occupation by Sweden not long after). Feeling abandoned, Iceland's wounds have only deepened over time.





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another historical piece because it's all that I'm good for. I hope I got all my facts right but this era of Nordic history is next semester, so I'm relying on what I already know. I really enjoy interpreting Norway and Iceland's relationship through the events that happened to them, especially through the 19th and 20th Centuries. Until 1814, i like the think they were very close. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and perhaps I'll return soon with more more Norway/Iceland historical pieces, especially set in the time that Norway did leave Denmark. I'd like to explore Denmark's mind there was well, and the household Iceland would grow up in. I think Denmark's emotional state would be... a state. 
> 
> Anyhow, I digress. Enjoy my writing!

It was an early spring morning, and the air was saturated with hope. Norway was happy, and for once he didn’t try to hide it. Though no smile made its way onto his lips his eyes glinted with a hope – an excitement – that was tangible to the other Nordics, and his dextrous hands played restlessly with a piece of discarded red string. He kept his gaze forward, ignoring Denmark, who was straying a little back, smile more strained than usual, and Sweden and Finland who were having a hesitant discussion ahead of them.

They entered a building. It was grey and rather squat, much like the other buildings in this grey and squat city, but to Norway it was a royal palace for what it held. The air was bitterly cold outside, but a cold sun rained down on them until they entered the building, and man-made heating resumed.

“Norway, wait,” Denmark said as Norway approached the stairs. He went to grab Norway’s hand, but old wounds took long to heal – longer for nations – and Norway snatched it away before the man could make contact, sending a piercing glare behind him.

“What is it?”

Denmark paused, and Finland and Sweden shared an uneasy look. For a moment no one acted, and then Finland stood forward and put a hand on Norway’s shoulder. “I have spoken to Iceland recently. He still has… strong feelings, about the past.”

“I know,” Norway said, taking Finland’s hand from his shoulder but holding it for a moment, to show the younger nation that he didn’t hold him with the same scorn he held the others, “I know, because I would have been the same. But I have to do this. Let me go alone.”

The three shared another look of unease, but eventually Denmark nodded, and offered Norway a pathetically sad smile. He held out his arms and gestured to the staircase. “Go ahead. We’ll get coffee.” 

Norway nodded once, before heading up the stairs. The excitement that had been building in his stomach had turned sour, and suddenly it was anxiety that he felt. Running a hand through silky hair which he’d grown from its customary crop following the Second World War, he paused at the rich, oaken door in front of him as if it held his fate inside. In a way it did; for many centuries, Iceland had been one of the only reasons he had for living, and afterwards the boy had been his only source of hope. Of course, after so long apart, Norway would be hesitant to face his brother again.

He raised a hand and turned the knob, allowing the well-oiled hinges to carry the door seamlessly open.

Inside, the room was bright with the cold sun, and larger that it appeared on the outside. A formal table sat in the centre, and on the far wall a large Icelandic flag dwarfed the four other flags that hung beside it, the blue so rich Norway could almost smell the salt of the oceans it represented, the red a long-lost Christian relic that had long ago adopted the more contemporary imagery of Iceland’s life-giving lava. 

Iceland was sitting away from the seats at the table, on a low window sill, watching over his city the same way a king watches over his kingdom. If he heard Norway entering he gave no clue to it, and ignored the footsteps that approached him.

Nonetheless, Norway stopped a little away from him, anyway. He cleared his throat, and when that didn’t work, he spoke. His voice was higher than he’d have liked. It made him sound vulnerable. “Hello, Iceland. It’s been a while.”

When Iceland finally does turn, Norway was struck by how much he’d grown. He was taller than he had been as a child, and though his face still held the roundness of youth his chin had sharpened, his eyes had deepened. At some point in time, he’d adopted a shorter style than the long plaits Norway would make for him until Christian custom frowned on it too much. Norway was happy that he had retained his freckles.

Iceland’s expression was unreadable, and for a moment it was like looking in a mirror. “It’s you,” Iceland sneered, rolling the pronoun around his mouth like an unpleasant taste. “Where are the others?”

Norway needed a second to collect himself. “They are waiting.”

“Why? Tell them to come through.”

“No,” Norway said, raising his voice a little. Perhaps, he allowed a little frustration to come through, too. “I need to speak to you.”

Iceland ignored the sentiment. “Do you know who I am?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said – do you _know_ who I am?”

“You are Iceland. To me, you are my brother,” Norway said hesitantly, feeling for once like he wasn’t in control of a conversation.

“Am I?” Iceland asked. “How do you know? Did you see me become Iceland; gain my independence? Did you watch me grow from a child, like a brother would?”

“Iceland…”

“Shut up! You know _nothing,_ Norway. For over a century you turned a blind eye to the unprofitable island in the North Atlantic while you sought your own freedom, leaving me with a mourning Denmark whose xenophobic population persecuted my people in ways you couldn’t imagine. How many famines – how many eruptions – have I suffered alone? Would you know?” At some point Iceland had stood, and his chest rose and fell heavily with emotion. At first glance his eyes may have matched the coldness of Norway’s own, but Norway could see how they burned scorching hot.

“Too many to count,” Norway replied sadly, “but every time, my heart ached to be with you, if only Denmark and Sweden hadn’t insisted otherwise.”

“Leave them out of it,” Iceland hissed. I’ve made my peace with the oppressors – that is easy – but with traitors I have no desire to fraternise.”

“Listen Iceland!” Norway said, raising his voice and stepping forward so that he could grab Iceland’s arm, “I have been passed around like property just as long as you have. I didn’t _choose_ to leave Denmark in 1814, that was merely punishment for him for supporting Napoleon. I attempted to declare my independence that year so that I may be able to continue seeing you but _no one_ would listen. I’ve had no power over my independence and I have suffered like you have.”

Iceland tried to shake him off, his stony mask cracking as he scrunched up his face, but Norway held on tight. He wasn’t going to let Iceland go a second time.

“You celebrate _syttende mai_ so joyfully, though,” Iceland argued, “why celebrate the day you left us?”     

“Because it is the most selfish desire in a nations heart,” Norway explained, “to desire independence above all. But the joy I and my people feel is bitter, when I no longer have the love of my brother. When I know that he is still suffering, and my face will only heighten his pain. Iceland. I am sorry. Please. Forgive me.”

Iceland’s face crumpled. Before he could turn away Norway pulled him to his chest and wrapped his arms around him – arms that had ached for decades to comfort his brother once again. He could feel Iceland sobbing in the embrace, and so he gently rubbed circles on the nation’s back, burying his own tears in the white crown of the boy’s head. For a long time they remained like that. Tears that had been kept secret for centuries were finally permitted to fall, and neither of them were able to halt their crying until a natural lull, in which Norway led Iceland to one of the seats in the centre of the room, an arm firmly round his brother’s shoulders.

“God, Iceland, I’ve missed you.”

Iceland didn’t verbally return the sentiments, but his nod was enough. Norway allowed himself to consider how the younger nation had inherited Norway’s own pride, and was very happy at the thought. He’d been such an optimistic child that Norway had wondered back in the medieval days if Iceland would take more after Denmark. Now that he had grown, it was almost like looking in a mirror.

The others gave them half an hour alone before entering for the meeting, and in that time Norway and Iceland had half-talked, half reintegrated into each other’s presences, which was a feat in itself. The establishment of a relationship that had been battered and broken so many times was sometimes upsetting, but Norway knew it to be worth it. After the second world war, after those terrifying months fighting Germany knowing Denmark was already in his grasps, Norway had stopped resisting the Dane’s pleas of forgiveness. As much as he would loath to say it, he had missed his old friend – once oppressor, now kin.

When they entered, Finland’s eyes crinkled with relief and his face flushed with pleasure. Sweden remained stoic as ever, but Norway was an expert in reading the seemingly unreadable expressions of the man, and could see the gentle approval in his gaze as he took his seat beside Iceland. Denmark didn’t even attempt to hide his glee. He grinned at the brothers, blue eyes flicking from one to the other in exhilaration.

Iceland composed himself, shuffling the papers on his desk.

“Shall we commence?”

 


End file.
